He would spend his days in the muck called human interaction. Sitting at a table of liars and thieves, he dreamed of tiny puncture wounds and drops of rich, red blood. Each day stained.
His soft shoes and white coat roamed the quiet halls each night. Fluorescent glow, his constant companion, followed every step. I would sit on the floor by my door and listen for his sighs until sleep captured my imagination and I would dream. He would never sleep, he was a dream, I captured.
When he approached my door, I disappeared, a shadow lost in his radiance. He measured each line and then spoke to those of us not there. He expressed an imagination rich in metaphors; splicing pieces of fog into forms. His mind became my probe into darkness. My fears languished in tomorrows.
The soft spots in my brain, with the absorptive capacity of a baby, struggled to understand his words. After he disappeared, I would take a few steps out my room to explore. I mouthed his words without meaning and then sighed. The girl in the next room sat on her floor by her door and listened for my sighs until sleep captured her imagination and she would dream.